


I had a family, once.

by sicklyscribe



Series: Brothers [3]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, TVD 2x08 prelude, dark themes inside, written entirely for the sake of revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklyscribe/pseuds/sicklyscribe
Summary: He's immortal, he's invincible. But neither might nor magic can lift three coffins out of the furthest depths of the ocean.If, in fact, they really have sunk, then all he can do is wait for a call."Sometimes there's honor in revenge, Stefan."





	I had a family, once.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ALostHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALostHeart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Unfixable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189908) by [ALostHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALostHeart/pseuds/ALostHeart). 



> Written for The Originals Appreciation Week 2018:
> 
> _Day 3 - “Family Above All” - Writing about your favourite familial ship_  
>  _Day 8 - "Lets do the time warp!” - Writing set in the past_  
>  _Day 10 - Free Choice (Self explanatory, do as you wish!)_
> 
> My free choice was _“angst specifically targeted to break[ALostHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALostHeart/profile)'s heart”_, fair warning. She deserves it, you may not.

He kept the power on so that he could charge his phone. 

He had fired his assistant (compelled her to politely fuck off, really) and so this month he would have to make it downstairs to the lobby to get his mail. So that he could pay the bills. 

Electricity for the battery. Wireless for the cell signal. Dial-up for the computer in the study, but he didn’t need to check his email. He just figured it would be good to have, in case of a call.

Elijah sat with his head against the windowsill, feeling his eyes begin to prickle with dryness. 

He ran his thumb over the buttons on the cellular phone. He’d had the phone for almost a year but only in these past few weeks the ink had rubbed off of the rubber in a telltale swipe from the tip of the 4, the corner of the 7, the whole of the 8, and most of the 6. 

Muscle memory hit the arrows and selections necessary to play the most recent voicemail for the 46th time that morning.

“ _I told you to stop looking for me, brother.”_ a tinny crashing, splashing sound punctuates Niklaus’ voice. “ _There goes Kol! That makes three. You brought this on yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Make trouble for me again and you’ll be joining them.”_

There  _had_  been a ship. There  _had_  been three coffins. It had only taken a few weeks to confirm those details. Even negating all human or vampire testimony, he had been able to determine that. 

He had not been able to determine their destinations in the untouchable shadows of the Marianas Trench. 

They could not be gone. 

Klaus  _would not –_

Elijah’s body was too dry for tears, it was barely well enough to move his hollow muscles to slide the phone away from him a few feet across the room. 

It had not been the voicemail that had stricken him, had not been the years of silence, the compulsion of their entire network to forget the sons of Mikael existed (at least outside of Klaus’ own presence, as was his preference), had not been the per-decade meeting Klaus had missed in 2000. 

It had been the doubt. 

 **If**  Klaus had killed the others,  **if** he had forsaken his oaths, Elijah would kill him. 

But Klaus had become a ghost. 

Klaus had the white-oak ash and the Hunter’s silver daggers (well,  _dagger_  singular, as one of Klaus’ final correspondences with Elijah in 1983 had been to tell him that one vial and one dagger had gone missing). 

Elijah had no way of knowing the truth. 

His only option was to gain leverage over Niklaus, and the only path to leverage was Mikael himself. Elijah couldn’t ally with him, had no leverage over Mikael to keep Klaus alive if his siblings did prove salvageable. He would need to steal the stake and make his own fratricidal threats. 

But Mikael, too, had become a ghost. 

Last known confirmed whereabouts had been Northern California in 1990, followed by a rumor in some midwest witch covens that the Original Father had killed one of their own a few years later. 

Two years ago Elijah had found a lead on Klaus – the Martin witches in Louisiana had lost their daughter to a rakish British stranger who left bodies in his wake and whose power nearly struck Jonas Martin to the ground when he had shaken the man’s hand. The Martin clan – masters of old international magics. The Martin daughter – a prodigy in the theory and practice of soul and body magics. 

Elijah imagined Klaus’ body in a coffin somewhere, desiccating, while his soul enjoyed the anonymity of another’s visage. 

Jonas had tried to strike him down at first, did not believe him when he said he would help the Martins recover their daughter and fell the Hybrid menace. It had taken a year before he earned his trust. Before he could say the words “ _I want him dead_ ,” without trembling at the omitted  _if_. 

Mr. Martin had been searching for Klaus’ body or soul ever since his daughter disappeared, finding both cloaked beyond his means, often times by his own daughter’s power. 

They were at a stalemate. 

His only hope had been to try to lure Mikael to New York. 

The first few months had been almost blissful, a justification for his heinous bloodlust was a welcome respite to the pain of  **if**. Bodies in alleyways, opera house bathrooms, hotel elevators. Blood ran hot and thick and blood had always been his only oath.

Rebekah nudged against his hand, biting when he did not respond.

“Yes, Becky,” he rasped. “I know.” 

He had to call the lobby and ask for someone to come get his trash, and while he waited for dinner to arrive he reached out to feel the white cat’s spine as she purred and chirped. 

 _Knock, knock._  “Mr. Falk, you called for a bellhop?”

“The door is open, please come in.” Maybe the kid would think he was a hundred-pack-a-day smoker, he surely sounded like one. 

The door opened to reveal a familiar face, Elijah had already gotten this one sorted. The young man stepped inside, closed the door, and began rolling up his sleeve as he walked towards him. His gaze was blank with the months-old compulsion, not seeing or smelling the bodies in the corner of the living room. 

He didn’t even flinch when Elijah bit into his outstretched wrist. He felt his tense tight graying skin revitalize just a bit as the fresh human life flowed through him for the first time in a week. As soon as he had the strength to detach and the instinct to go for the man’s neck became overwhelming, he shoved the human away from him. Perhaps a bit too hard. 

Elijah took a few deep breaths,  _hearing_  the difference in his veins as they pumped a bit fuller. Then he stood, biting his own wrist with a single fang, and let the human heal himself. He straightened the boy’s sleeve himself, brushing the wrinkles smooth, and sent him on his way. 

The bulk bag of cat food was stashed in a cabinet above the fridge. The cat dove and needled around his ankles as he got her a generous portion. 

The storm within him calmed just a bit as he listened to the creature eat. 

He had never been one for animals, not since he had died the first time. But this one had refused to be ignored, that day in the alley, staring down at him like only one other person in the world had ever done. 

He had tried to give her other names. He hated that there was only one that seemed right. 

She had been the only thing that eased the rushing crashing maddening flow of  _ **if if if if IF IF IF**_ within him. Her simple loyalty – bought with kibble and a warm place to sleep (his own bed, untouched for months) – soothed his own. 

Always and Forever, they’d said. 

He was well enough to cry, now, which he did without censure. It was a silent, still affair that began as he settled back down at his place leaned against the window sill. 

Rebekah settled in his lap, full and thankful, and he rested a hand on her as he shook with fury at himself for feeling that dreaded  _shred_  of doubt.  **If.**  

He couldn’t live like this. And he had no way to end this seemingly endless sentence of isolation, of purgatory for the crime of what – seeking his brother out, when he had been told not to do so? 

It didn’t add up. 

But there had been a ship, and there had been three coffins. 

Elijah’s thumb began the motions to play the voicemail once again when the electronic device beeped beneath his fingers. He jolted, sending Rebekah yowling off of his wrinkled slacks. 

The message was not from Klaus. It was from  _Brando_ , one of his few contacts Klaus had never known about. 

_A Trevor and Rose want a meet. Claim 2 have a human Petrova Doppelgänger._

As Elijah stared down at the message, willing himself to reply but frozen in confusion, another message popped up with a video attachment labeled ' _Grabbed this off of Trevor's phone.'_

It took forever for the file to load, but when it did, Elijah’s fist hit the floor and dented the hardwood. He stood immediately, eyes locked on that  _face_. 

She was unconscious, but breathing softly. Clad in a sweet pink sweater and with straight brown hair, she almost looked… younger. Innocent. 

But it was Katherine. 

He stood for half an hour, playing and replaying the fifteen-second video in a daze. If only it  _could_  be a human doppelgänger. 

Finally, he responded.  _Where?_  

He showered for the first time in… how long? It didn’t matter. Old blood stains and grime fell away. His closet smelled dusty, but he dressed himself in a clean suit. Dabbed cologne on his wrists and neck. The cat butted her head against his hand and he petted her gratefully. 

When his phone beeped again, and he typed the given number into an app on his phone he couldn’t help but smile as the location loaded. 

A million thoughts coursed through his brain. The exodus from Salem. Katerina.  _The missing dagger_. The moonstone, long thought to be somewhere in the United States. 

It wasn’t the leverage he needed, but it was leverage enough to  _try._  

He scrolled through his burner phone contacts and dialed JM. 

Straight to voicemail. “Jonas. Meet me in Richmond two days from now. I mean to make good on my promise regarding your daughter.”

He slammed the flip phone shut and caught his own eyes in the mirror. He could read the  ** _if_  **there as always, but now it finally had a measure of satisfaction. 

_If they are lost, we will die by my hand._

He wondered if the woman next door would be interested in adopting a cat.

**Author's Note:**

> sns
> 
> originally posted [here.](http://sicklyscribe.tumblr.com/post/177037061821/i-had-a-family-once)


End file.
